


The Padawan Teaches the Master

by SolarasInc



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Kid Anakin, Kid Fic, Master & Padawan Relationship(s), Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Padawan Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon was dead: to begin with, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-01-06 13:16:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18389183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolarasInc/pseuds/SolarasInc
Summary: Anakin often thought, particularly when he was upset with Obi-Wan, that his Master must have resented having a ‘pathetic lifeform’ thrust on him as Qui-Gon’s dying wish.  The truth was a desperately-edged opposite.





	1. Qui-Gon Is Dead (Prologue)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing Star Wars related expects some DVDs. 
> 
> Notes: So, instead of doing my work writing, I wrote fanfic--as one does. I was contemplating how Obi-Wan probably needed Anakin in those early days after Qui-Gon died, and then I made the mistake of starting to type. I'm not sure how often I will update, but I do have several of the later parts (not all in order) written.

 

I.

Qui-Gon is dead.

For a few heartbeats, scattered throughout the day, Obi-Wan forgets.  He turns his shoulder into where Qui-Gon should be, jerks off-balance at the absence of his braid catching on his robes, and quakes all over again.  His knowing smile of an inside joke stutters into rictus.  A forced breath.  Another.  And another.  He chokes it all down until his gut aches and his throat burns, but his face smooths out.  Placid.  Calm.  Jedi. 

Would Qui-Gon be proud? And, oh—Obi-Wan blinks slowly, wanting to just shut his eyes— _no_ , he knows the answer is no.  If Qui-Gon were here, he would know that Obi-Wan is so less than _capable_.  He would know that Obi-Wan fails to let go, can’t release all this feeling (cannot release Qui-Gon) into the force, that Obi-Wan is wrecked with attachment.

Obi-Wan keeps breathing, deliberate and measured, as Master Windu disparages the mess Qui-Gon left them with—because, “of course, Qui-Gon Jinn did.”  The edge of Windu’s snarl softens as he looks at Obi-Wan, who tightens the cross grip he has on his wrists, hidden in the drape of his sleeves, and tries desperately to exude calm and capable (and not desperation).  He’s ready (he’s not).  He needs to be seen as ready.  He needs to keep the boy—keep Anakin—the last pathetic lifeform, the last anything Qui-Gon will ever give him.

The council cannot take the boy—take Anakin—away.

Qui-Gon is dead, and Obi-Wan still feels caught behind the laser gate.  His Master out of reach.  The world tainted in shades of red.  Obi-Wan wonders if this is Falling—if he is finally failing in all the ways Qui-Gon ever feared.

 

II.

Anakin is absent when Obi-Wan packs Qui-Gon’s belongings. 

Despite the confident dramatics of, “You will be a Jedi.  I promise,” a Crèche Master swept Anakin away upon their return to Coruscant for educational assessments.  Although, Obi-Wan knows the boy spent several days with the healers first.  Probably being inoculated and treated for Force knows what, which, in hindsight, Obi-Wan should have insisted on the first time Anakin came to the temple (because it was always ultimately Obi-Wan seeing to the practical side of Qui-Gon’s ‘will of the force’ pathetic lifeforms).  An incompetence born of rush and jealousy.

“I failed.  I was jealous,” Obi-Wan says aloud to the empty room. 

He folds another of Qui-Gon’s overtunics and places it in a box to return to the Quartermaster.  Jedi waste nothing.  He smooths the lines of fabric, pressing it flat and neat on top of the growing stack.  All Qui-Gon’s clothes are too long, too broad, and just too everything for Obi-Wan.  There are no (acceptable) justifications for keeping them. 

While Obi-Wan made his intent to take Anakin as his Padawan clear to the council, it still has not been made _official_.  Other than a new medical file, Anakin is not even registered in the Temple systems—never mind the usual pomp and circumstance of braiding and training bond ceremonies.  The council probably thinks Obi-Wan will retract his Padawan petition any day now, claiming grief, stress, and force-exhaustion (he does not think about killing the Sith— _Sith_ , not just darksider.  Qui-Gon was right.  But he is not thinking about this), and, now that he has meditated (he has not), he will apologize for his rudeness and acquiesce to the council’s original appraisal of the boy.  

His own original appraisal of the boy. 

“Jealous,” he says again.  “We could—are all dangerous.  The Force—”  Too angry.  Too scared.  Surely, Qui-Gon would not have told him to train the boy if he had felt when Obi-Wan killed the— “There is no passion, there is serenity.  There is no passion, there is serenity.  Serenity.”

Obi-Wan slips into one of Qui-Gon’s robes.  A dove grey that Qui-Gon liked for special occasions.  Would he have worn it for Obi-Wan’s knighting ceremony?  The sleeves are too long, and the length pools around his feet.  He drowns like a child.  Intellectually, Obi-Wan knows he is not short for human-standard, but next to his Master, his measure…

Qui-Gon is dead, and Obi-Wan needs to put everything in boxes.  He needs to move his own belongings out of the Padawan room and into Qu—his new room.  He is calm.  He is capable.  He is serene.  He is ready for a Padawan.  He needs to believe that.  He needs the council to believe that.

The boy will be a Jedi.  He promised.  Anakin Skywalker will be his Padawan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for stopping by! Comments are love, and you never know what you might inspire!
> 
> \--Solaras


	2. Never Forgiveness or Permission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on Movie Timeline: You'll notice I'm mucking about with the timeline of the very end of Phantom Menace. In my little world here, the final epilogue scene of the victory celebration on Naboo, where Anakin has a Padawan braid, hasn't happened yet. Unlike where the movie has to condense the sense of time by virtue of being a movie, I figure it would logically take much longer for Naboo to be ready for such an organized victory parade/ceremony. Medical care, security, emergency repairs followed by high priority repairs, cleaning the city streets, etc would likely all happen before they sat down to organize that nice parade. Far longer than figures like Yoda and Palpatine, with their roles in the Jedi and Senate respectively, could hang around on Naboo. 
> 
> Thus, the current events of the story are happening post-Qui-Gon's funeral but prior to that final Naboo victory celebration, and late in this story I plan to have the necessary figures invited back to Naboo for the celebration.
> 
> A few bits of humor in this chapter. Obi-Wan is slightly less angsty while he has a goal to complete, and as a writer, I can't do all angst all the time.

I.

Qui-Gon never asked for forgiveness or permission.  He just did.

Obi-Wan waits a total of five days before walking down to the crèche in search of Anakin.  Not that he thinks there are no things Anakin could (and probably should) learn in the crèche—the boy, while too old to enter the Temple overall, is only nine, which is early for a Padawan, and considering his lack of Temple education, spending time as an initiate makes sense.  Anakin could become a Padawan late in his twelfth year (like Obi-Wan), but with the promise of a Padawanship to ease those stressful years (not like Obi-Wan), and benefit from four years of learning the basics of Force-control along with other initiate level subjects.  Anakin is smart; Obi-Wan overheard him talking about the droid he built to Padme during the flight from Tatooine.  He would catch up quickly.

But Obi-Wan is not entirely sure the council won’t find a loophole to exploit and deny Obi-Wan’s petition.  A Master chooses his Padawan, and while not typically started right after gaining Knighthood, the rules do allow.  He is a Jedi Knight (albeit retroactively granted for killing—for Naboo as opposed to traditional trials), he currently lacks a Padawan (Qui-Gon’s error, however much Obi-Wan _wants_ to believe Qui-Gon thought him ready), and Anakin is strong in the force and of Padawan age (typically no earlier than eight, or species equivalent, barring circumstances requiring specialized attention[1]).  Technically, Obi-Wan would not even be the first to take a Padawan without initiate training; although, the cases he found (Obi-Wan spent day four in the library) post-Ruusan Reformation all involved Masters finding and taking on a force-sensitive child during long-term missions to the Outer Rim (mostly Shadows and attachés traveling with ExplorerCorps), but the oldest child (at least _according to_ the Master’s statement[2]) had been four at the start of training.

The best thing to do, then, is to simply take a page out of Qui-Gon’s playbook and move Anakin into his apartment, form a training bond, and carry on as if in a perfectly normal Padawanship.  Obi-Wan frets over circumventing the council and the crèche, having played the voice of reason to Qui-Gon’s maverick for so long, since Melida/Daan if he is honest (and, if he’s honest, his toeing the straight and narrow was more about never seeing Qui-Gon turn away from him again).  But, if Obi-Wan comports himself well, his decisiveness will surely read as assured readiness and not as rash ineptitude.

Obi-Wan squares his shoulders as he approaches the crèche and holds his chin a touch higher.  He wishes Qui-Gon had not insisted on cutting his hair again right before the Naboo mission—

> Qui-Gon’s hands tilting his chin just so, using the scissors instead of the powered clippers around his braid, separating the hair with his fingers, flicking his ear for fidgeting.  He plaited Obi-Wan’s braid (unknowingly) for the last time.  As he smoothed in a bit of hair wax to protect the symbol of their partnership, Qui-Gon asked, “What marker do you think Naboo will warrant?  We have space here.  At the end—”

Obi-Wan stops and pretends to watch a group of younglings play push-feather.  He wishes Qui-Gon could cut his hair right now.  He could…  Obi-Wan smooths the hair by his right ear.  As short as the rest.  He might look less like a Padawan himself right now if Qui-Gon had let it go another mission, but he does not wish that at all. 

He wishes.

Yoda had offered, as his Great-Grandmaster, to cut his braid there in the sun-drenched solar of a guest suite in Naboo Palace, and Obi-Wan had appreciated the gesture, but he had declined.  How cutting his own braid appeared to the council, Obi-Wan does not know.  But, at the time, if anyone else had touched it, even his lineage Master, Obi-Wan’s façade would have crumbled.  He had done so well—he thinks—in explaining the promise he had made to Qui-Gon. 

He could not have left that room a second too soon.

Obi-Wan squares up again and centers as best he can (he still has not meditated).  Serenity. Capable.  Jedi.  No asking.  Never forgiveness or permission.  He will pick up Anakin and just go. 

 

II.

For all that Obi-Wan had spent the last five days drilling scenarios of redefending his ability and right to take on Anakin as a Padawan, he had not given enough thought—or rather none—to how Anakin would take their separation.  Still rushing.  Though, this incompetence lacks origin in jealousy, he is not sure self-centeredness is any better. 

Qui-Gon is not here to say, ‘Don’t center on your anxiety, Obi-Wan,’ anymore. 

“Anakin!” a Senior Padawan yells, “No running!”

The boy spares this no attention as he hurtles over a bench between him and Obi-Wan.  He stops just out of arm’s reach. “Mister Obi-Wan, sir!  You came back!”

“That’s Knight Kenobi,” says the Padawan, who Obi-Wan thinks is a few years his junior and might be called something starting with an ‘N.’  But, with how often Qui-Gon kept them dashing anywhere except the Temple, Obi-Wan would not stake money on it.

“ _Actually_ ,” Obi-Wan drawls, preparing to just go for it, “I am Anakin’s Master.”  He sees Anakin hunch a bit out the corner of his eye.  “Apologies for my delay in collecting him, but I am sure you understand, or you will.  You must be closing in on the big day yourself, yes?  Trials just around the corner and look at you: prime seat to take the measure of the Order’s future.  You have a padawan in mind already I bet.” Obi-Wan smiles and—because tallness plagues the Temple apparently—looks up through his lashes.  “Cheeky.”[3]

“Well—I don’t—I mean of course I notice,” Padawan N-something stutters, eyes darting to and away from Obi-Wan repeatedly, “but trials.  Soon.  Oh, I don’t—”

“You will do fine.  I know it.”  Obi-Wan beckons Anakin out the door with one hand and waves goodbye with the other.  “May the Force be with you,” he salutes while walking backwards, spinning on his heel just past the exit, and striding down the corridor (shoulders squared) with Anakin in tow.

When they turn down an empty hall, Obi-Wan sighs bodily and closes his eyes. He feels jittery and tries to push it into the Force.  Except the source is not him—at least, not all of it (most of it).  Anakin eddies in the Force, the current swirls, loops back on itself, and spirals away from him again.  Obi-Wan had noticed the shifting long before meeting Anakin.  Maybe as soon as landing on Tatooine.  But he had not known it for a person until their meeting with Qui-Gon sprawled between them.  The boy’s shields are the thin, involuntary action of a Force-sensitive mind protecting itself. 

“Do I call you Master?” Anakin asks.

The question is wrong.  It is not—the tone is off.  Not a hopeful Padawan’s question.  Anakin is still just outside of arm’s reach.

Qui-Gon never asked for forgiveness or permission, but he also had Obi-Wan casting apologies in his wake. 

Surely, Qui-Gon.  If not—five days in the crèche.  Surely, someone.  Anakin must have heard.  ‘Master.’ ‘My Master.’ ‘Yes, Master Qui-Gon.’  Obi-Wan, himself, must have said a hundred times between Tatooine and Naboo. 

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says and starts to reach for him, but he aborts the movement early, thinking better of it.  Had Qui-Gon mentioned who he _won_ (Sithhells) Anakin from?  What type of _Master_?  Had Obi-Wan been listening?  What ball did Obi-Wan drop that his Master had expected him to catch?

 

 

 

[1] Due to his ability to see shatterpoints often causing disruptions in the crèche, Mace Windu became a Padawan at age seven.  Master Myr knew the fierce boy could be molded into a powerful Jedi, but it may have been suggested (possibly with a bit of Force) by several frazzled Crèche Masters that young Mace would do well with an early apprenticeship.  Unknown to Obi-Wan Kenobi, one of those same Crèche Masters accompanied Anakin Skywalker to the Healer’s Wing, took one look at the subsequent Midi-chlorian count (retested for official medical files), and promptly put in for retirement.  

[2] There was a picture attached to the official filing of a Retroactive Padawan Petition Form.  If that _teenager_ had been four when given to the Jedi Master, then Obi-Wan would willingly visit the healers for routine check-ups regularly for life.

[3] While Obi-Wan will always deny he’s flirting if asked outright (except when flirting with actual intent for an interesting evening and only when asked by the target), he’s been flirting since he was 17, looked in the mirror, and went, “Well, hello there.”  Jedi waste nothing, and he knew he could do better than that time he dropped Satine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm making up that bit about Mace becoming a Padawan at age seven. It seemed like it could have been a thing. I did get his Master's name off Wookieepedia, though.
> 
> Probably won't update quite this quickly again. Probably. The opening was a short chapter--more mood setter--so I wanted a more significant portion posted to get started. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, and thanks for stopping by!
> 
> \--Solaras


	3. The Art of Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively titled: Where Obi-Wan has Good Ideas, But Due To Lingering Self-Worth Issues, Does Not Follow Them.

 

I.

Qui-Gon taught him the art of words.  When Obi-Wan was thirteen, he thought no one could possibly know as many words, in as many languages as his Master.  He despaired of ever living up to Qui-Gon’s example.  At twenty-five, Obi-Wan still finds himself lacking in the face of a nine-year-old boy.

“Anakin, Qui-Gon did tell you are free, yes?” Obi-Wan asks after an awkward amount of silence, unsure how to bridge the distance Anakin keeps from him: both the physical and… everything else.

The boy nods quick and sharp.  “Yeah. Mister Qui-Gon said I was no longer a slave.”  And, more quietly in a mumble Obi-Wan would have missed had they still been in the crèche, “I _am_ a person.”

Obi-Wan just stops as _Anakin_ —as a person and freed slave—coalesces in his mind.  Obi-Wan understands captivity.  Life as the padawan of the famed and oft-requested Master Jinn never seemed to see a mission go as intended.  Whose bad luck was to blame, Qui-Gon’s or Obi-Wan’s, they never could agree; although, Qui-Gon would always get the last word: “the will of the force,” he would say and meditate, while Obi-Wan looked for yet another: access panel, keycard, deactivation switch, trash chute, or wall thin enough to lightsaber through _immediately_.[1] 

Too, did Obi-Wan understand forced labor.  Even now (especially now), he sometimes dreamed of Bandomeer, the weight of the collar, his life weighed against opening a door.  His Master _had_ spoken to him (more than once) about preparedness as a Jedi vs. necessity of self-sacrifice, but Obi-Wan knows, in the depths where he shoves all the emotions he cannot release into the Force, why Qui-Gon took him as his padawan.  Obi-Wan knows what it took to change the mind of Master Qui-Gon Jinn about a boy too old, too scared, and too angry.  He knows the kind of words, the right self-sacrificing sentiment, Anakin must have expressed in his offer to enter a dangerous podrace.

But, being a slave?  _Being_ a slave as one’s life, existence, and identity?  Slavery is a concept to Obi-Wan.  For all his brushes with it, he has never doubted he is his own person, that he owns his own person—even if he does not always know who or what that person is supposed to be. 

And, Obi-wan does not know how to teach that.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan finally replies, though, he stumbles over what to say beyond that.  “Anakin.  Ani.  May I call you Ani?”  It suddenly seems very important to ask.

“Sure,” the boy mumbles.  Whether the boy’s pinched expression stems from the nature of the whole conversation or over allowing him liberties with his name, Obi-Wan is not sure.

“Ani, you get to choose.” Obi-Wan pauses and licks across his bottom lip.  He really does not want to offer—the very idea of losing this last bit of Qui-Gon—to have Anakin go anywhere else, but he continues, “If you do not want to stay—”

“No, no! Please, _Master_ Obi-Wan! Please don’t send me away!”

“No-no-no, that is not what I meant,” Obi-Wan hurries (he does not know how to not kark this up).  “Ani, I am trying to say—what I mean is…” Obi-Wan takes in a deep breath and measures his exhale.  “I always wanted to be a Jedi Knight.  Not just any Jedi.  So, any other choice never felt like a choice to me, but there are choices here, Anakin.  The Services Corps focus on different abilities and interests besides negotiation and lightsaber skills: AgriCorps, ExplorerCorps, MedicalCorps—did anyone mention?”

“There were some pamphlets.  I read them while at the Healers.”

“Right,” Obi-Wan said, realizing at some point he needs to learn what Anakin has been doing the last five days.  Shouldn’t there be a report of these ‘educational assessments’ or whatever has been going on?  Do reports on his Padawan’s progress get sent to him?  Is there a database he accesses (when will Anakin be added)?  How does he enroll—what does he enroll Anakin in?  By all thousand moons of Lego, Obi-Wan wants Qui-Gon here to ask all these ridiculous practical questions, and then get some even more ridiculous answer that Qui-Gon skipped it all because they were, surprise-surprise, off-world.[2]

“Right,” Obi-Wan repeats because it is that or be very unJedi-like in the middle of the hallway.  “So, there are the Corps and a Temple education is top notch.  Sometimes initiates go back—” Obi-Wan bites his tongue before he can say ‘to their home world.’ “Go back to school elsewhere to go into non-Jedi fields like government.  We are right beside the Senate, and I suppose some people like _politics_ ,” Obi-Wan sneers.  “It is a difficult change.  I could not imagine.  But, you have already—and, as I said, I only ever wanted…”

Obi-Wan falters and peters out. 

“Then, I choose to be a Jedi _Knight_ ,” says Anakin with a lilt at the end that sounds more like he’s asking Obi-Wan a question.  Obi-Wan wishes he could be more sure that Anakin really understands. 

Obi-Wan wishes he felt less willing to let this whole conversation go.  That he felt more willing to let Anakin go.  For a beat, two, three—he will turn around and take Anakin back to the crèche to learn what it means to be Jedi.  To learn basic meditation (which Obi-Wan really, really needs to do). 

For a beat—he will do it.  Qui-Gon would understand.  It is the right way to do things.  For Anakin.  And, if he decides not to be Obi-Wan’s Padawan—two, three, four.

Obi-Wan nods.  “Alright.  Let’s go home.  I should show you how to get there, I suppose,” he smiles, but feels like he is trying to breathe the air of Mustafar.  He would be lying if he said he had never dreamed of being _Master_ Obi-Wan to his own Padawan one day, but still.  “You do not need to call me Master, Anakin.  Masters do not own their Padawan learners.”  Obi-Wan intentionally smiles wider.  “I do not need you to say it.”

“Okay, Master Obi-Wan.”

Qui-Gon taught him the art of words, but Anakin is not a trade negotiation.  Obi-Wan does not yet know the language of teaching—how to convey and guide another to internalize understanding—but he hopes to figure it out.  For them both.  Soon.

 

II.

For all that Obi-Wan never met Master Dooku in person, he wishes his Grandmaster would come back to the Temple.  For all that he respects the wisdom and experience of his 800-something Grandmaster Yoda, the old Jedi often seems set in his ways (circa some centuries ago) and does not seem to struggle with emotions the way younger Jedi do (and all admittedly—at least in the confines of the Temple—do).  Somedays, Obi-Wan seriously questions whether Yoda remembers such inner conflict at all (if he ever had it). 

He would like to talk to someone about Qui-Gon, someone who _knew_ him with the kind of intimacy that only comes from the bonds of lineage.  With a few rare exceptions of cultural or biological necessity, Jedi forsake much of their home world and family (not that Obi-Wan remembers his).  But Masters have Padawans, and Padawans have Masters.  They work together, live together, save each other’s lives together for years and years.  Master Dooku, Obi-Wan is sure, would understand. 

But Dooku has been avoiding the Temple longer than Obi-Wan has been alive, and when he ventured to ask after Dooku to Master Yoda, the old green troll wilted in a way that Obi-Wan really does not want to cause ever again and said: “To the Force, we look must.”  If Qui-Gon were here, Obi-Wan would tell him, ‘I have a bad feeling about this, Master.’  But, no.  No one to tell, and he is afraid (something else he needs to release into the Force) that there never will be.  Master Dooku probably understands all too well, causing him to avoid the Temple even more. 

Maybe Obi-Wan should message Master Dooku.  Maybe he should take Anakin and go find their Grandmaster.  Maybe Dooku would like to help his Grandpadawan with this Great-Grandpadawan with all the guidance Qui-Gon can no longer offer.  Maybe they could all go on pilgrimage to Jedha and teach Anakin about the Force.  Follow the will of the Living Force away from the heavy structure of Coruscant.  Qui-Gon would have loved that. 

At three in the morning, that all sounds like a lovely idea, but Obi-Wan knows he will do none of that.  In keeping Anakin, he has tapped out his will to defy the council on his own—no one standing with him, united.

Anakin sleeps, now, in his new room (Obi-Wan’s old) across the living area from where Obi-Wan kneels on his meditation mat.  Visiting the Quartermaster for additional clothes and gear suitable for a beginning Padawan, ensuing measurements, taking the scenic route through the Temple to avoid council members,[3] exploring the apartment, and a late dinner (and, Obi-Wan now knows, five days of uncertainty piled on top of Naboo and Tatooine) have finally siphoned the last scrape of energy out of the boy. 

“Master?” Or he could be far less asleep than Obi-Wan thought. 

“Yes, Anakin.”

“I can’t sleep.”

Obi-Wan rolls his neck and shoulders for a satisfying crack—his mind had drifted everywhere except into relaxing meditation—and opens his eyes.  Anakin stares back at him with the drooping lids of someone who would really like to sleep and the tension of someone failing to do so.  Obi-Wan imagines he mirrors the expression, though, with less intensity.  Anakin clearly expects something here. 

Qui-Gon would lead Obi-Wan in joint meditation when he suffered disturbed sleep.  Peacekeeping rarely means peaceful missions, thus, nightmares.  One more thing to learn to master and give unto the Force.  Even if Anakin knew basic meditation, Obi-Wan feels less that masterful right now.

“Is there milk?” Anakin asks after apparently giving up on Obi-Wan responding.  “You said whatever’s in the kitchen, I could—I can heat it myself.  If that’s okay.”

“Heat it?  Well, yes, we have milk.  We could heat it if you want.”

“I can do it!  I interrupted you.”

“Nothing uninterruptable.  I promise, Anakin.”  Obi-Wan pushes himself off the mat and flicks his hand towards the kitchenette off to one side of the living area.  “Besides, our tour lacked what cabinets hold pots, yes?  My lapse entirely.”  The knobs on the back of the stove were like to be out of comfortable reach for the malnourished nine-year-old, but Obi-Wan thought Anakin would not appreciate (understand?) that concern.

Waving Anakin into a chair at the table, Obi-Wan fetched a small pot from the lower cabinet, making a show of where things were located, and milk from the fridge.

“It’s not blue!”

“Blue?”

“At home—” Anakin stutters, “I mean on Tatooine—we drink blue milk.  From Banthas.”

“Oh, really, blue?”

“What’s this from?”

“Nerfs.  Not terribly dissimilar from a Bantha, though, smaller.  Smell much the same, I imagine.  The AgriCorps tends a number of herds,” Obi-Wan explains and pours milk in the pot, shrugs, and pours enough for two mugs. “We can probably find blue milk, sometime, if you like.  If it exists, somewhere Coruscant sells it.”

“Okay,” Anakin replies quietly, finger circling a tea stain on the table where Qui-Gon had the appalling habit of resting his spoon.  

It occurs to Obi-Wan that the kitchen did not fall under the clearing of Qui-Gon’s things he could not practically use.  There are tea cups that are distinctly Qui-Gon’s, mugs for when Master Windu came by for caf, and tea towels and ridiculous cozies Qui-Gon insisted on purchasing from an old lady with a craft shop as old as herself on the midlevels. 

Obi-Wan turns his attention to stirring the milk before he scorches it.  When it is wafting steam, Obi-Wan serves up two mugs, neither being of preference to his absent Master.   He sets one in front of Anakin and moves to claim the other table chair.

“Master Obi-Wan?” Anakin queries.  He holds his mug with both hands.  For all that the boy (and his Force presence) seems to fill a room, he really is quite small.  Quite young to be a Padawan.

“Yes, Anakin?” Obi-Wan prompts and sips his milk.  He would prefer tea, but he finds the warmth and the weight of it soothing, nonetheless. 

“Are you sad?”

Obi-Wan should probably say something appropriate about releasing his emotions to the Force, use the art of words Qui-Gon taught him to make this a lesson for his Padawan.  Instead, he stares at the tea stain.

“Yes, Anakin.”

 

 

[1] One mission to Cantonica involved all these things plus a dress and a fetching headwrap.  Obi-Wan played casino waitress for about an hour while _borrowing_ keycards and locating appropriate panels, doors, and chutes before freeing Qui-Gon from an unused vault where a lucky bounty hunter (who had literally fallen on top of Qui-Gon) had stashed him.  Fortunately, Obi-Wan was still in that gangly teenager (it’s lithe, Master! Do not say I’m gangly in a mission report!) stage, and with some artful draping of said dress and headwrap and a bit of makeup _borrowed_ from the dressing room, could pass fairly well as a woman in his impromptu disguise.  Obi-Wan bemoaned sexist hiring practices (and the appalling skirt length or lack thereof) in the service industry all the way home.

[2] Obi-Wan did, in fact, complete most of his required Padawan credits through distance learning, and it was a full two years into his Padawanship before his Master enrolled him in any classes.  Obi-Wan only completed 4 full classes onsite at the Temple, which were all during the half a cycle Qui-Gon had to stay on Coruscant and teach Intro to Lightsaber Forms after losing a bet to Master Windu on the Teris Swoop Race Finals.

[3] Their quasi game of hide-and-seek earned a more genuine smile from Anakin, and unless Obi-Wan is much mistaken, he may have gone up in Anakin’s appraisal.  Particularly, Anakin seemed amused by their swan dive behind a hideous statue called _Rancor in Repose_ to avoid Master Mundi.  Said statue had been permanently affixed to the floor and wall through some combination of industrial epoxy and the Force by its artist.  The wall, unfortunately, was load bearing; thus, the council had long deemed it not worth the expense to remove (not that it wasn’t brought up for vote almost yearly).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, finally had a moment to finish editing this. Hope you all enjoyed, and thank you for stopping by!
> 
> \--Solaras


	4. Train the Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got away from me a bit. The boys would not stop talking.

 

I.

> Qui-Gon said to train the boy.  “Promise me,” he said.  Obi-Wan tried to pull his Master closer, drag his Force-presence into himself, connect them, keep Qui-Gon present just a little longer, just a moment longer—surely, help would come.  Surely, there was time.  “The chosen one,” he said.  His touch—faltering, indistinct, yet branding—fell away. 

Obi-Wan wakes between one breath and the next, fingernails cutting into his cheek.  He eases the clench-curl of his fingers but otherwise remains still, listening to the ambient sounds of the Temple and the wisp-whistle of his own breath.  The muffled swoosh-beep-boop of cleaning droids passing in the hall mark the hour as just past dawn.  He stretches his senses away from himself and hears Anakin snuffling, nose probably buried in his pillow (Force knows how he breathes), and, beyond, the churn of speeder engines—a city-planet never truly sleeps—the hum of an uncountable number of streetlamps, the flutter of infinite hearts beating so closely together, the bone-thrum of tectonics shifting, the high plucked cords of Coruscant’s four moons echoing their tether’s tender strum.  Farther still: the bass-beat, gravel-crunch roil of the Sun.  A star among stars.  All pulsing.  All sounding.  A synchronous sibilant song he can almost—

With a gasping-cough Obi-Wan simultaneously crashes back into himself and onto the floor in front of the couch.   He claws into the carpet and tries not to retch.  He feels bruised and swollen, skin stretched and aching to accommodate, but when he looks, his flesh is pale and clear. 

He needs to pull himself together before Anakin wakes up and can no longer participate in the polite fiction that Obi-Wan is sleeping in his Master’s bedroom rather than the couch.  He crawls to the meditation mats and slumps against the wall, listing leftward but still upright.  Angled towards the windows, he notes the grey haze and wonders if their planet sector is scheduled for rain today.  Something to start keeping track of if they will be staying planetside extendedly. 

He should meditate.  He needs to teach Anakin.  Meditation, on both their parts, will aid in the formation of a training bond.  Bond achieved and his Padawan’s place will be secured.  Everyone will sense it.  The Jedi Council will know the finality of Obi-Wan’s choice.  No more hesitating looks.  Everyone can move on. 

Obi-Wan scrabbles up the wall and shuffles his way to the kitchenette, clutching couch and chair backs on his way.  Tea first.  Tea will set him to rights.  And breakfast.  He should start something for Anakin.  Human children need three square meals a day: grains, proteins, dairy, fruits and vegetables.  Nausea swells like puffer pigs have taken up residency in his head and stomach.  

He flicks the switch on the electric kettle and fishes the ball infuser out of a drawer, making a proper pot very much beyond him.  He will forgive himself the small cheat.  He bites down on the inside of his cheek and leans forward until his head knocks into the top cabinet.  ‘It’s still _dunking_ the leaves,’ Qui-Gon would say.

“It could be worse, Master,” Obi-Wan whispers.  “It could be a bag.”

‘You would never be that, as you are fond of saying, _uncivilized_ , my Padawan.’  Qui-Gon would tut at him like the old biddy he secretly was, fuss Obi-Wan away, and take over the tea. 

“Tired,” Obi-Wan says as the kettle clicks off, “too tired, Master.”  He spoons leaves into the little steel ball, snaps it shut, and drops it in the largest mug from the cabinet.  Propped up on his elbow at the table, he drinks with the ball still in the mug.  “Come gripe at me, Master.”

“Can you talk to Mister Qui-Gon?”

Obi-Wan sputters and through Force of will does not spit his tea.  Clearly, the child needs a bell.[1]  Or, more to the point, Obi-Wan needs to focus his senses (never mind not stretching them to burnout), so that it takes more subtlety than a walking Force foghorn to sneak up on him.

“Is that something the Force can do?” Anakin continues, heedless of Obi-Wan trying to choke with a modicum of dignity.

“Well,” Obi-Wan hacks out and clears his throat. “That is a complicated question, Anakin, and depending on who you ask, you may get a different answer.  But the short answer is, no, I am not conversing with Master Qui-Gon.”

“Oh,” Anakin stoops his shoulders a bit.  “At the funeral, everyone said a lot about the Force.  You said he went to the Force.”

“I did?  Well, yes, I suppose I did.”  Obi-Wan remembers promising to make Anakin a Jedi in sharp relief juxtaposed against a blur of faces: shadows on high, bright flames.  One day, in the future, he might regret not focusing, not seeing, but, that night, he could not look.  “There is no death, there is the Force.”

Qui-Gon said to train the boy, but Obi-Wan doubts the final note of the Code presents the best starting place.

“Yeah, that.”  Anakin fidgets with the hem of his new sleep shirt, rubbing it between his fingers and thumb.  Obi-Wan had suggested off-whites and browns for him when the Quartermaster’s inquiry for his colors had left Anakin rather wild-eyed.  Padawans often match their Masters to some extent anyhow.

“I should make you breakfast,” Obi-Wan says, deliberately shifting the subject.  “We should also start a shopping list.  Other than blue milk, what do you like?”

“I can eat anything! No allergies or nothing,” Anakin quickly retorts.  “I’m not any trouble.”

“Anakin—” Obi-Wan starts. 

“I can take care of myself, really!”

Obi-Wan resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and switches tactics instead.  Qui-Gon’s instruction to not focus on his anxieties probably extends to Anakin’s as well, and he lacks any better idea.  “Let me see,” he says and leaves the table to scrutinize the contents of the food cabinets.  “Do you want cereal or eggs and toast?”  He waits, face in the cabinet, trying to project non-judgement. 

“Um…cereal?”

“Hot or cold?”

“Hot.  Please.”

“Okay, hot cereal it is,” Obi-Wan says, grabbing the appropriate canister.  Giving Anakin specific choices seems like a workable route.  A jitteriness lingers, and Obi-Wan knows it for the boy this time.  “Go wash up, and then you can set the table.”

“Right!” Anakin runs to his room, comes out with a bundle that looks like towel and tunics, and quickens into to the fresher. 

By the time he returns, damp and flushed under his tan, Obi-Wan has bowls and glasses pulled from the higher cabinets waiting for him.  Anakin scurries around Obi-Wan, opening the silverware drawer, fetching napkins, and ferrying everything to the table—all while seeming constantly spatially aware of Obi-Wan and out of the way.  Obi-Wan adds milk and juice cartons and a plate of pear slices[2] to the table and ladles cereal into the bowls for them both.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, getting the boy’s attention.  “You know I was Master Qui-Gon’s Padawan, yes?” 

“Uh huh.”

“So, that makes you my first Padawan.”

“This is new to you, too, huh.”

“Exactly.  Do go ahead and eat,” Obi-Wan says and takes a bite himself for encouragement and continues to wait until Anakin follows.  “We will have to figure some things out as we go, but this is also your home, Anakin.  As my Padawan, I do not just give you lessons, I am also res—I mean I know you are able to take care of yourself—but I will look after you, too.”

Anakin tilts his head to one side, squinting a bit.  “So I’ll be a good Jedi?”

“I do want that for you as your teacher, but as your guardian, as the primary adult in your life—I am not explaining this right, am I?”  Obi-Wan gives into that building urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.  Not infringing on Anakin’s new autonomy, while still establishing guidelines (authority? boundaries? something Obi-Wan does not know?), proves more difficult with every word out of his mouth.

“Are you kind of like Mom?”

“No.  Yes.  Maybe.” Obi-Wan gets up and flicks the kettle back on.  “I am unsure of the comparison.”

“Huh?”  The Force knots in confusion along with Anakin’s expression.

“You saw the crèche.  I have no memory beyond that,” Obi-Wan says and fiddles with refilling the tea ball.  “I know what mothers do, but I do not _know_.  If that makes sense.  I know—knew Master Qui-Gon.”

“I liked Mister Qui-Gon.”

Obi-Wan, still facing the counter, smiles.  Qui-Gon would be pleased at that.  He wants to think Qui-Gon would do better at this conversation, but in all truth, it still probably would have been Obi-Wan trying to explain—and, how had he not realized he looked forward to that?  Qui-Gon taking another Padawan, having a younger lineage brother to roll eyes with and explain that half the time ‘will of the force’ meant Qui-Gon was making it up as he went.  It would have been okay.  Eventually.  Qui-Gon could ride roughshod over others—Obi-Wan _knew_ this about the man, but it would have been okay.  Eventually.  Anakin as Qui-Gon’s next Padawan.

“Master Obi-Wan, did I say something wrong?” Anakin asks.

“What? No, of course not.”  Obi-Wan holds in a breath.  One.  Two.  And tries push this new ache out with it.

“You feel spiky,” Anakin says and points to his head when Obi-Wan turns to him. 

“Do you often sense people’s feelings?” Obi-Wan queries, hopefully appearing placid, while he shores up his own shielding and berating himself for his negligence.  Untrained the boy may be, but with his Midi-chlorian count, that just means he is a Rancor in a kyber vault.

“Was helpful for dealing with things,” Anakin hedges, which Obi-Wan takes to refer to the boy’s former _Master_.  “That’s the Force, right?”

Obi-Wan nods.  Like most Force-users without formal training, instinct and self-preservation lead to developments all on their own.  Jedi, too, heed their natural inclinations to some extent.[3]

“Did you just—” Anakin continues, head tilting again, “did you do something?”

“I tightened my shielding.  Imagine a ray shield around yourself, not just your mind, but your presence in the Force.  It can be thin, allowing somethings to still be distinguishable, or even like a filter,” Obi-Wan explains, raising the tea ball infuser out of his mug.  “Or the shield can be thick, opaque, blocking out or in.  The stronger the shield, the more energy and focus required.  I will teach you to more intently shield yourself, but in the meantime, no sense bleeding all over you.”

Anakin opens his mouth and closes it again, wrinkling his nose.  Deciding to let Anakin work up to whatever he wants to say, Obi-Wan returns to the table with his tea—Anakin tracks his movements as he settles.  His cereal has gone rather cold, but eating is still unappealing anyway, and as Anakin _has_ been eating, his point seems made. 

“I don’t mind,” Anakin finally says.  He is rubbing at the tea stain on the table again. 

“Mind what, Anakin?”

“What you’re feeling.  You don’t seem there.  Right now.  You are.  I can see you, but I’d rather know.”

Whether Anakin means knowing Obi-Wan is present or knowing what Obi-Wan is feeling to “help with dealing” is unclear, but Obi-Wan imagines it is both.  It unsettles him, admittedly, that on some level Anakin’s response comes from dealing with his slave master, but he also knows he, too, instinctively reads people in the Force (and would be hard pressed without it).  Not even Masters Yoda and Windu walk about fully shielded all the time without specific reason.  Still, “spiky” is not the tone he should set. 

Calm.  Capable.  Serene.  Train the boy.  Shields can be a filter, Obi-Wan repeats to himself as he continues to sip his tea.  He relaxes his shielding, and Anakin’s face unscrunches.

 

II.

“But, Master Obi-Wan, how do I clear my mind?”  Anakin huffs.  “Thoughts just pop up all the time!”

The push back both annoys and relieves Obi-Wan.  While Padawans, particularly beginners, are not expected to be experts on meditation (even Jedi Masters suffer disquiets beyond their ability to immediately handle), they know the essential steps and have been practicing them regularly from the age of four.  Intellectually, Obi-Wan knows someone once explained these steps to him in simple, small words, but (kark it all!) he lacks the memory of such explanations.  However, Anakin’s ensuing frustration, and his expressing it, eases a knot of tension in Obi-Wan.  He should probably scold Anakin a bit.  Tell him to ‘do or do not; there is no try.’  But, really, relief at seeing the spit-fire who took out a droid control ship return wins out. 

Since retrieving him, Anakin has been rather wan.  Perhaps it is the upheaval of the boy’s life.  Leaving his mother to go with Qui-Gon only to lose Qui-Gon and be left with Obi-Wan.  Perhaps that is Obi-Wan projecting too much.  Or perhaps it is the Temple. 

“Alright,” Obi-Wan admits, “clearing may not be the proper word.”  He is certainly not ‘clearing’ anything at the moment, which only adds further justification for not scolding.  He can hardly blame Anakin for something the boy probably can sense, on some level, Obi-Wan continues to fail at.  “The idea is to focus on a particular—okay, no, let us go back to the breathing.”

“Again,” Anakin sighs.

“Yes, Anakin, _again_.”  Obi-Wan does not resist mimicking Anakin’s whine.  “Somethings require repetition both in concept and practice.  Now, focus on each breath.  The flow of air in and out but breathe naturally.”

“How can I breathe naturally if I’m aware of doing it?”  

“If your mind wanders, refocus on your breathing.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Just, Padawan, listen to my voice for right now.  Breathe and focus on the movement of your chest.  Feel your lungs expand and contract—”

Thunder cracks into Obi-Wan’s sentence, and before Obi-Wan can _refocus_ , Anakin sprints off the meditation mat to plaster himself to the window. 

“Anakin, what are you doing?”

“Rain! Is this rain?”  Anakin skids back in front of him.  “Like water.  From _the sky_!”

“You have never seen rain?” Obi-Wan asks, a bit confounded at Anakin’s excitement. “At all?  Even on a largely desert planet, there would be rain occasionally.”

Anakin shakes his head rapidly even as he talks.  “Mostly around the equator on Tatooine.  Other places could go years, or it’s over before you make it outside to see.  Mom said it rained in Mos Espa once like the firing of a racer engine, flooded everything, cut off, and was sucked up just as quick.  I don’t remember that, though.”

Drops hit the glass.  Anakin stills to nothingness.  His Force presence as held as his breath—each plink and patter echo in the absence.  The rain picks up, streaming constantly down the window.  Obi-Wan uses a bit of frivolous Force manipulation to cut the lights.

The outside shimmers.  An uncountable number of streetlamps.  And headlights, track lights, spotlights, window lights, signboards in an array of neon: orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, pink—all rainbow refracting in the rain.  Temple airspace gives just enough distance to appreciate the oscillating swell without immediate overload; although, in time, Obi-Wan could see Anakin enjoying standing in the midst of it, buoyed in the Living Force.

He could train the boy to do that.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin says and takes his hand, pulling him along to the window.  “So light.”

Gently, Obi-Wan curls his fingers around Anakin’s—not wanting to alert him to their sudden lack of distance. 

 

 

 

[1] Qui-Gon had put bells on Obi-Wan and Quinlan Vos both in a joint training exercise; however, the point was the exact opposite of Obi-Wan’s current desire.  After being caught sneaking back into the Temple after curfew (and smelling distinctly of skeezy bar, and it must be skeezy “as you are both underage, boys”), Qui-Gon decided the appropriate punishment/lesson would be on stealth training.  Obi-Wan and Quinlan spent two weeks maneuvering about the Temple whilst trying not to jingle lest Qui-Gon add more hours to the punishment.  This included going between classes, to and during saber training, _existing_ in their respective apartments, and even sleeping.  Quinlan’s Master Tholme mostly laughed and pulled their braids, but Master Yoda also got in on the act and started smacking them with his gimer stick whenever he caught the lilt of a jingle-jangle.

[2] If Obi-Wan absently slices the pear with the Force while concerned with stirring milk and a bit of honey into the cereal without burning anything, then that is his frivolous business.  He is balancing enough things today, thank you very much.  If Anakin happens to stop what he is doing to stare in wonder at said pear, then Obi-Wan will just have to remember to grump about proper Force use later.  He will remember.  Probably.

[3] While Obi-Wan’s affinity for the Unifying Force is common knowledge (the handling of which became an oft-debated topic between Qui-Gon and Mace), he had developed a lesser known skill for always being able to pinpoint the best eatery on any given street.  This likely came about through the combination of: 1. the strange cuisine both necessity and Qui-Gon’s curiosity subjected him to on missions and 2. Qui-Gon’s ‘will of the force’ adventures in the culinary arts (and the Temple commissary was, well, a commissary).  On one memorable occasion, Obi-Wan entered the apartment; saw Corellian snapfish, muja fruit, sour relish, and gelatin on the counter; and promptly about-faced out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could not resist a poke at the pear scene. I didn't even try to resist. I wrote "plate of sliced fruit," backspaced immediately, and typed "pear." 
> 
> Thank you for stopping by, and I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> \--Solaras


	5. Knowledge Gained

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where Obi-Wan mostly succeeds in distracting himself from Qui-Gon, and Jocasta Nu is totally his proper and stern grandmother.

 

I.

Qui-Gon always praised knowledge gained from the Living Force.  But he also hated going to the Archives, and so his _praise_ was somewhat loaded.  Master Jocasta Nu, the Archives’ Chief Librarian, had been long-standing friends with Master Dooku well before Qui-Gon became a Padawan, and even once Qui-Gon was well into middle-age and raising his third Padawan, she tended to treat him like the scruffy, dirt-tracking, pockets full of snitmice boy he had once been.[1]  Master Nu had developed a reflex action of reaching for a tissue to scrub said little boy’s grubby hands before he touched _anything_ , which, to Qui-Gon’s mortification, she would absently persist to do even as she directed young Obi-Wan to a resource material. 

Having been a youngling who enjoyed reading and the seemingly endless materials just waiting there, the joys of the Archives had been one of the first things Obi-Wan, nervous new Padawan, had willingly argued with his Master over.  Qui-Gon very quickly shifted any needed Archives visits off to Obi-Wan, treating the errand as a magnanimous treat where his Padawan could also browse for his own leisure.  Obi-Wan, who had never went through a youngling phase of hopping in and out of water equals ‘clean’ or playing in the _dirt_ of the Room of a Thousand Fountains—being too civilized, appealed far more to Master Nu’s sensibilities of the right sort for her Archives. 

A sentiment Obi-Wan still strives to maintain.  Jocasta Nu makes a fabulous ally and a nightmare of an enemy if one would like anything done in the Temple. 

“Master Nu,” says Obi-Wan, leaning slightly over the main desk towards the Archives’ fastidious matron but, importantly, not touching the desk.

“ _Knight_ Kenobi,” she says, letting her eyes roll up to acknowledge him before her chin follows.  Her fingers keep typing.  The emphasis on his title could be an acknowledgement of his graduation or, and Obi-Wan fears more likely, an admonishment.  But he lacks surety if her displeasure stems from an overdue holopad (his quick mental inventory comes up blank), his unconventional Knighting, his new unconventional Padawan, or (blessed-Force-please-no) some action of his new unconventional Padawan.

Obi-Wan decides on discretion and smiles crookedly, tilting his head downward in deference.  “Master Nu, you have tr—”

“Do not bat your eyes at me, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” she snaps in, still typing without looking down.  “I still remember you as a chubby toddler dragging a stuffed Tauntaun on unauthorized leave from the crèche.”

“C-chubby,” he strangles out. “Ah-hem, well, I simply did not see the need to stay if the adults were coming and going as they pleased.  It was an equal rights issue.  Clearly.”

Master Nu makes a derisive noise in her throat.  “Well, what do you need?  I am not here to give history lessons.”

“But you do value knowledge.”

“For _some_.”

“My Padawan—” he starts, pauses as she makes the derisive noise again, and continues, “needs supplementing in a number of educational areas.”

“Shocking,” she deadpans.

“And,” he barrels on, “I am unsure where to start.”

“Speak to the Crèche Masters.”

“I have their report.”

“Well, speak to them about it.”

“I am, perhaps, not in their favor.  Momentarily,” Obi-Wan hedges. “I have taken on Anakin—”

“Against advisement.”

“Yes.”  Obi-Wan’s confidence deflates, taking the line of his shoulders with it.

“A child teaching a child,” Master Nu states, eyes narrowing.

“I am hardly—”

“And you have been a Knight how long?  Mere weeks.”

“I was—had been—ready,” Obi-Wan says, his hand clenching the hem of tunic below the level of the desk.

“Do you believe that, _Knight_ Kenobi?”

“Master Qui-Gon said I—” But Qui-Gon is dead.  Obi-Wan draws himself straighter, forcing his breath not the stutter.

“Do you believe that, _Knight_ Kenobi?” Master Nu repeats, not letting her stare waiver.

“I must.”

“Then act like it,” she says and finally looks down at her typing.  “The Council is full of fusspots.”

Obi-Wan coughs out a laugh.  “You were on the Council, Master Nu.”

“And I left.  Twice.  But now I have full charge of the Archive, and if one of them dares to recommend me again, I will delete the ne’er-do-well from Temple access systems and if their apartment environmentals get sliced, well, won’t that be a coincidence.”

Obi-Wan smiles without thought or plan to do so.  “You have trained three Padawans.”

“Sometimes it feels like infinitely more.”

Obi-Wan chuckles, breathes out, and waits for her to look up again.  “I need help, Master Nu.”

“Well, of course you do.”

“According to his assessments—”

“The boy is speaking fluent in Huttese, Toydarian, and Basic,” she lists rapid-fire, “but while proficient with the Basic numerical system, and mathematically generally, he is not writing fluent in Basic.”  

“You have seen the report,” Obi-Wan says, blinking and overwhelmed.

“I do not trust _assistants_ to start new resident files.  One error at the beginning is a domino effect in waiting.”

Obi-Wan chews his bottom lip, but at Jocasta Nu’s scowl, quickly stops.  That her comment points to more than her filing system, does not pass him by.

“Knowledge earned is knowledge gained.  If, Knight Kenobi, you want to broaden your new—” she drags out a sigh— “Padawan’s knowledge base, I suggest you start in the language section.  I have loaded a number of recommended manuals you may download on that terminal.  Over there.” She gestures dismissal with a sharp flick of her wrist.

“Thank you, Master Nu.”

“Do not leave fingerprint smudges.”

“I would never dream,” Obi-Wan says with a precise bow.

 

II.

Obi-Wan steps into the apartment and promptly crunches something underfoot.  Hopping back, offending foot in the air, he hopes nothing important (or belonging to Jocasta Nu) made such a sound.[2]

“Oh! Watch out, Master!” Anakin calls from the kitchen table. 

Obi-Wan looks from table to the meditation mats, where he left Anakin, and back.  “I see your practice progresses apace,” he says, raising an eyebrow at the boy who, at least, looks decently sheepish.

“It was harder without you,” Anakin says, slumping down in his chair (Is it his chair now, Obi-Wan wonders).  “It didn’t seem like I was doing it right.”

Obi-Wan stares a moment more at the boy.  Anakin twists his mouth and fidgets with a scattering of tech parts on the table.  “We will try again tomorrow,” Obi-Wan relents and looks down at a rather squashed mouse droid sans half its casing.  It squeaks wobblily at him.  “Well…sorry.”

Anakin darts over and scoops up the mouse droid, holding it to his chest with both arms.  “I’m making him better.”

“Ana _kin_ ,” Obi-Wan says, knowing he fails not to sound pained.  “Did you _lure_ a mouse droid from the hall?”

“Um…”

Obi-Wan opens his mouth and clicks it shut.  It’s Qui-Gon all over all over again.  The last time was Anakin himself, and now… He raps the hard edges of the two holopads he holds against his thigh, grounding in the sensation.  “Might I ask why?”

“He’s slower than the others.  I’d seen him before.  I thought…” Anakin hesitates, looking up at Obi-Wan through his blonde fringe.

“Go on.”

“I thought while I waited, I could do something I’m good at.  To help.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighs.

“He’s a nice droid,” Anakin rushes.  “He’s not mad you stepped on him.”

“You should not just—hold up, you understand binary?”

“Uh-huh.  ‘course.”

“That is not listed in your assessments.”

“No one asked.”

“But you listed languages you speak,” Obi-Wan protests.

“I don’t speak in binary.  Do you know anyone who beeps at a droid?” Anakin rolls his eyes, which then immediately widen and look up at Obi-Wan.  The boy holds his breath.

“Well, you have me there.”  Obi-Wan smiles but, otherwise, remains still until Anakin exhales.  “There will be much about you that I will just have to hear from you.  Starting: do you like droids, Anakin?”

“Yes!” he nods rapidly and almost drops the mouse droid.  “I was building one for my—before.  But R2-D2 was super wizard!  And I’m really good at fixing them.  I have small hands, so I can get to the finicky bits.”

“Well, I suppose we can go ahead and reach out to the Tech Bay.  Most Padawans do at least one technician rotation here in the Temple.  I think I can have you placed out of pre-requisites, and then,” Obi-Wan says, looking down at the mouse droid, “you will be able to ask permission to work on the Temple’s droids. “

“Oh, right,” Anakin hunches around the droid.  “I didn’t think about that.”

“Yes, well, you can put it back together and no harm done.  Anyway,” Obi-Wan moves along, deeming it safe to head to the table, “I procured you some learning materials.  I thought I could help you improve your written Basic before—”

“I can read and write!” Anakin cuts in sharply.

Obi-Wan pauses, feeling the curl of anger, and bolsters his shields.  “I am aware of that, Anakin,” he says calmly, though, Anakin keeps frowning at him.  Obi-Wan breathes, slow, like he is scenting the Force (which is not entirely untrue).  Defense wafts in the anger.  A sense Obi-Wan recognizes from himself.  “You are writing fluent in Huttese and Toydarian, yes?”  He waits for Anakin to nod, to note what Obi-Wan knows he can do.  “But you have not finished learning Basic.  A third language.”

“I… no.”  Anakin looks off to the side, hunching around the mouse droid again.

“I fathom Basic is not an official language on Tatooine.  Certainly not for business or bookkeeping in Hutt Space.  Granted, from my dealings, it seems the Hutts tend to understand Basic perfectly fine, but they would not dare deign to speak it, much less propagate it, in their own territory.” Obi-Wan tsks his tongue against his teeth.  The sound drawing Anakin’s gaze back to him.  “Can you imagine it: a Hutt acknowledging something of the Republic so blatantly?”

Anakin huffs and shakes his head.  The edge in the Force recedes. “They’d all go turn Bantha herders first.”

“Padawans learn, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says and gestures him over to the kitchenette.

“And I’m your Padawan.”

Obi-Wan takes a swift breath in through his nose as Anakin skitters over and puts the droid on the table.  “Yes, you are, Padawan.”

“Master, you’re doing that thing again.  You don’t feel right.”

“Oh, yes, quite.”  Obi-Wan pares his shielding down.  “You are rather loud in the Force, Anakin.”

“Is that bad?”

“No, no, not at all.  As you learn to recognize the force actively, you will—well, it is like feeding more input into your little droid there.  His processors are only designed for so much, say, compared to a droid like R2-D2.  The Force is in all living things, and it binds the galaxy together.  That is a lot of input for one person, so sometimes you must dial it back.  Does that make sense?”

“I guess,” Anakin responds, but his scrunched face belies his words.

“We will get there, Padawan.”  Obi-Wan takes his seat at the table and gestures for Anakin to do the same.  “I do hope all the pieces are here,” Obi-Wan says, surveying the puzzle of droid parts.  “I confess droids are not my specialty.  Most of my technical training occurred in ship maintenance, usually while crashed or crashing.”[3]

“You were fixing the hyperdrive when Mister Qui-Gon came.”

“Just so, Anakin.”

Anakin starts to put some of the droid pieces together, fitting them into the mouse droid, which gives the occasional high-pitched beep when something snaps in what, Obi-Wan assumes, must be a satisfying way.  Feeling the direction of the boy’s attention in the Force, Obi-Wan begins handing him the pieces he wants next.  And Anakin is moving through the Force now, putting pieces together without overthinking it—just trusting where they go. 

“This,” Obi-Wan says quietly, “is not so far from meditation, Padawan.”

“There were always things to fix,” Anakin replies, matching Obi-Wan’s low volume.  “Whatever was about in the shop.  It was what I was for.”

Obi-Wan picks up part of the mouse droid’s outer casing and passes it on.  He weighs words on his tongue carefully.  “Do you like fixing things?  Do you want to fix things?”

Anakin finishes the mouse droid, which beeps and boops its squeaky beeps and boops and rolls around the table, uncertain of the way down.  Obi-Wan gives it a hand to the floor. 

“I think so,” Anakin finally says. 

“Well,” Obi-Wan begins and rubs his fingers and thumb along the stubble he neglected to shave today.  “Let’s go to the training salle tomorrow and break a few things.  See what knowledge we gain.  Just to be sure.”

 

 

[1] Twelve-year-old Qui-Gon carried a family of snitmice in his pockets for about two weeks, slipping hunks of food from the commissary into his robes when no one payed attention, letting them play in a shallow puddle in the corner of the Room of a Thousand Fountains, and giving them Master Dooku’s expensive Chandrilan cheese.  The disappearing cheese tipped Master Dooku off, and he proceeded to hang Qui-Gon upside down with the Force, giving him a good rattle until all the snitmice fell out (along with bits of evidentiary cheese).  Years later, when Qui-Gon excitedly brought several snitmice (this time in a habitat cage) back to the apartment, Obi-Wan wore a similar disgruntled expression—involving a fair amount of pinching round the eyes and nose—reminding Qui-Gon sharply of his absent, former Master.  Never before had Qui-Gon thought Obi-Wan belonged with him more.   

[2] Obi-Wan once permanently lost exactly 1 holopad belonging to the Archives, which Master Nu mostly forgave him for, since technically the check-out had been for Qui-Gon, and Qui-Gon had been in procession at the time of loss.  Master Nu did not forgive Qui-Gon even though Obi-Wan argued that hanging from a smuggler’s freighter over a Mustafar lava flow was no time to try and catch slippery holopads.  Master Nu simply sniffed and proclaimed definitively that Qui-Gon had both the Force and _two_ hands.

[3] Qui-Gon, from his perspective, did _suffer_ through technical rotations at the Temple.  Master Dooku, aware of his Padawan’s dislike of all things mechanical, often assigned him to the Tech Bay for punishments.  As a Master himself, however, Qui-Gon gleefully passed all machine issues to his Padawan.  Keeping up with technology was for young people, anyhow.  Obi-Wan mostly just sighed at his Master’s unconvincing mask of tech naiveté with the notable exception of their almost crash into the Ryloth star.  Obi-Wan did not, in any way, appreciate his Master meditating while he tried to unglitch the locked auto-pilot and nav system as the console blared ‘heat shield failure imminent’ on repeat.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might have to name the mouse droid and have it come back. I grew attached.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed. Thanks for stopping by!
> 
> \--Solaras


	6. This Weapon is Your Life.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because, eventually, we must come to the issue of Qui-Gon's lightsaber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left kudos, commented, and bookmarked. The story has reached past 100 Kudos! I'm glad to know people are enjoying my self-indulgent smash of grief and fluff. I finished this chapter earlier than I thought I would to celebrate!

 

I.

How many times had Qui-Gon told him, ‘This weapon is your life?’  Granted, Obi-Wan continues to seem plagued with bad luck when it comes to keeping hold of his lightsaber.  If the bad guy of the mission does not abscond with it, his lightsaber is dropped in a hole (or kicked…), covered in viscous muck, flung out a window, or eaten.[1]  At least, until now, he had managed to recover it.

Obi-Wan turns Qui-Gon’s lightsaber over in hands, while he sits on a bench at the front of the Salle Master’s office, which (excepting the desk) resembles more an equipment storeroom crossed with a bazaar.  Obi-Wan watches the Salle Master hand Anakin another training saber to ignite and swing about, testing the weight and fit in Anakin’s hands.  He cannot completely make out what they are saying with how far down the aisles they are, but he can hear the fond tone of the old Master and the boy’s wondrous exclamations.

Master Kronath was Salle Master when Obi-Wan was a youngling (and for Qui-Gon, too), and Obi-Wan always thought him surprisingly gentle for the Master of a combat hall, never mind the arsenal of training gear he sits amongst daily.  But he has guided many small hands and young egos, fragile with awkward growth spurts, to finding the balance of a blade.  If he has an opinion on Anakin’s age, he does not show it.  Rather, he laughs at something Anakin says and hands the boy a different training saber, shorter than the last when ignited. 

No one has yet to say anything about Obi-Wan carrying Qui-Gon’s weapon, but a practical use of resources will only go so far.  At least with this.  Eventually, he will need to go to Ilum and find another crystal that chooses him, chooses to share his path, and set Qui-Gon’s to rest.  It will wait, though, until Anakin’s proficiency in sensing the Force increases and he, too, can complete the search—at least, that will be what Obi-Wan says (his excuse) if asked.  Far better to just make one trip for the both of them.

Finding a new crystal, however—constructing a new lightsaber, however—Obi-Wan lowers his head and, this time, lets the memory surface:

> “This weapon is your life,” Qui-Gon said as Obi-Wan reconstructed his lightsaber—the old hilt, worn and outgrown, set to one side.  New parts, designed for stronger power output befitting a Senior Padawan on the cusp of Knighthood, and his own cherished kyber crystal, which had sung so sweetly years ago on Ilum, floated around him.  In the casing, he felt the crystal as a thrum of potential, an edge waiting, but outside—it was a clear note that made Obi-Wan want to cry.  “Feel what it wants and let the lightsaber take shape,” Qui-Gon continued, guiding Obi-Wan’s meditation. There would be time later for manual tweaks and embellishments, but for now— “Feel the Force.  Let it flow through you.”  Far away and in another time, where his physical body sat, he felt a thumb brush under his eye.  But such things did not matter now—he was the crystal, singing the shape of his life.

That crystal is lost. 

“There is no emotion; there is peace,” Obi-Wan whispers—more a patterned exhale than actual sound. 

Obi-Wan looks back to the lightsaber in his hands: simple, spartan, but streamlined and powerful.  He feels the waiting thrum of the crystal, but if feels… less, just… less than the one he lost in the Theed power generator.  A hand-me-down well used past its prime.  A potential worn too thin.  

This weapon. Your life.  Obi-Wan lost one—a weapon, a life—in the bowels of Theed. 

“Master!”

Obi-Wan inhales, shaky and wet, and pushes down, in (he does not know), just not out—not now, not in public (the ripples will be felt!), and durasteels his shields, so he can raise his head and smile as Anakin runs over with Master Kronath following sedately.

“Master!” Anakin repeats as he skids to a stop, unlit training saber held up in the palms of his hands like the showing of a prize.  “I have a laser sword!”

“Lightsaber, Padawan Skywalker, the term is lightsaber,” Master Kronath says with a chuckle as he veers towards his desk.  “Though, I’ve heard it translated out and back to Basic as much worse than that.”

While filling in the sign-out holoform, Master Kronath continues to expound on the Altianathruli, a species near wild space, who emit a visible energy field, making them seem ‘made of light,’ and have such an extensive vocabulary for ‘light,’ that it takes half an hour to say ‘lightsaber’ in their tongue.

But Obi-Wan hears the old Master only absently—his attention on Anakin as the boy’s smile shrinks.  Anakin stares a long moment before his eyes drop to what Obi-Wan holds.  Obi-Wan would not have thought Anakin knew the lightsaber was Qui-Gon’s (and not Obi-Wan’s), but, clearly, he does.  That combined with his sudden shielding must have given Obi-Wan away.  At least Obi-Wan hopes so as opposed to his face being that revealing.  He hopes it is just because Anakin seems to naturally keep attuned to Obi-Wan’s Force presence (or at least its absence), and not that his lack of releasing emotions into the Force tells just as much. 

There is no emotion…

Peace.  Knowledge.  Serenity.  Harmony.  The Force.

No emotion…

“Master?”

> “Master?” Obi-Wan called, walking out of his bedroom.  “I finished.”  He twirled his unlit lightsaber in one hand, feeling the smoother grip.  He still debated the choice over a more tractioned grip, but the agile moves of Ataru often required quick one-handed and two-handed hold changes.  “Master?”  Qui-Gon knelt on his meditation mat, squarely in a sunbeam, eyes closed and hands loosely resting on his knees.  Obi-Wan knelt in mirror and placed his new lightsaber on the floor between them.  And waited.  He drifted, warm and sleepy in the sun—his Master’s Force presence both a quiet bundle in front of him and spread farther than Obi-Wan could follow, just existing in the Living Force. 
> 
> “Know,” Qui-Gon rumbled so lowly Obi-Wan thought it might be a dream, “what you will lay it down for.  Your weapon.  Your life.  Before the moment chooses for you.  Do not let the here and now pass without you.”  Qui-Gon lifted and turned over Obi-Wan’s hand, placing the new lightsaber within.  “Hold on to your life, my Padawan.  Hold tight.  And if you must lay it down, be ready to feint and spring back up.”

Obi-Wan lets his hand hover under Anakin’s outstretched ones, and when the boy stays put, he presses and curls Anakin’s fingers around the training saber.  “Hold tight, my Padawan,” Obi-Wan says.

He cannot bring himself to tell the boy this is his life.  Not yet.  Not today.  He should be a youngling with his first saber.  Perhaps on Ilum, when Obi-Wan can no longer delay going, he will tell him.  Obi-Wan does not recall his own hands looking so small around a training saber, and he started training much younger.  Younglings playing at Knights. 

He tries to ignore the burning in his chest—the foreboding.  He has committed himself and Anakin to this path.  This life.

 

II.

Obi-Wan leads Anakin to the private training room Master Kronath assigned them for the day along with a sack of training remotes, an armored droid, and a box of various refuse no one would mind being melted, cut in half, or set on fire.[2]  Obi-Wan sets the sack off to the side and gestures the droid (with the box) over beside it.

“Master?” Anakin breaks the quiet.  Obi-Wan turns and finds Anakin twisting his training saber over and over between his hands.  “Is it—are Jedi not…”

Obi-Wan thins his shielding.  Feels the swell around Anakin.  Caution and something not quite anger, bubbling nonetheless—it settles, slightly, around Obi-Wan’s visibility in the Force.  He suspects he will not like the question, but he is the Master now and this is his Padawan.  “Ask your question, Anakin.  I will answer if I can.”

“What if it gets me in trouble?”

“You can have questions, even about—most especially about the Jedi.  I would be surprised if you did not,” Obi-Wan says, but the hunch of Anakin’s shoulders and the pull back he feels in the Force do not read like belief. 

“It’s just that you keep—” Anakin starts but breaks off to stare around the room.  He settles his gaze on the droid.  “Is it not okay that you feel sad about Mister Qui-Gon?”

Obi-Wan does not even bother opening his mouth.  He does not know the right answer to give.  Except that he does know the _right_ answer:

there is no emotion, there is no death. 

He skirted around this topic with Anakin before, but if he puts off the boy now, when it clearly cost him to ask—Obi-Wan knows better.  Qui-Gon taught him _better_.  But he feels so far from the Code.  Swimming against the tides of himself; he is his own weight and drag.  And, yet—

“I am, perhaps, not the best example of a Jedi, right now,” Obi-Wan admits, but his honesty only makes Anakin frown further.

“So, you’re not supposed to feel sad?”

“There is no emotion; there is peace,” Obi-Wan recites.  “The first tenet of the Jedi Code.”  It is still not the comfort he knows it should be.  He thinks again of Qui-Gon, sitting in the sun and spread into the Force. 

“There can’t be no emotion,” Anakin insists.  “How would you _do_ that?  Even a droid with an advanced enough matrix…”

“The application is not so literal, Padawan.  Of course, we feel, but Jedi let go and release those feelings into the Force.”

“Release? But isn’t that, what I feel, me?  Are my feelings not…mine?”  Anakin stutters over the possessive.  He looks blotchy and holds the training saber tight in one hand by his side.  The Force fills with anger and fear—the bubbling a roil, buffeting—but at the center whirlpools confusion and a longing that Obi-Wan does not understand.

“The problem is not that I feel sad,” Obi-Wan tries, “but rather that I am not moving past, that I am not acknowledging, accepting—”

Obi-Wan knows he is sad, grieved, wretched in loss.  He acknowledges those, but he keeps letting them guide his decisions.  And that is the problem.  And, Qui-Gon forgive him because Qui-Gon (a part of the Cosmic now) surely knows, that Obi-Wan is afraid.  He turns from Anakin, moving to a bench.  He sits elbows on knees and holds Qui-Gon’s lightsaber again.

“A Jedi,” Obi-Wan continues, “approaches with compassion, but must not dwell in their emotions, particularly the negative ones—those that make all of us less.  That make us petty and hurt and fight over the space between specks of stardust. 

“We should—I should know and understand myself.  Let go of that which can only cloud my judgment and do me harm.  Respect Qui-Gon as—” Obi-Wan pauses and smiles at Anakin— “a person, all his own, that I cannot hoard.  That I cannot—”

That he cannot be angry at.  And he is.  So angry, since the moment the Sith stabbed—and he killed in—

“Master?”

Obi-Wan feels his shields thicken, blotting out the noise: Anakin, a rush of rapids; a class of initiates next door, many sparks clashing; the Salle, fireworks on a starry sky; the Temple, the starfield; Coruscant, those infinite hearts beating—he stops.  Pulls back into himself.  He will not repeat his disaster from the other morning with his Padawan looking on.  But Anakin will have to deal with the shields for now.  A good lesson in letting go. 

Obi-Wan’s chuckle is neither happy nor funny.  Petty indeed.  He breathes, in and out.  He breathes. 

“Padawan,” Obi-Wan acknowledges.

“Letting go.  What if you’re not ready?”  Anakin has moved closer to the bench at some point outside of Obi-Wan’s awareness.  He could almost reach out.  “How can someone else, something else, decide that _for_ you—” Anakin continues speaking in what Obi-Wan recognizes as Huttese, but other than a few words, can not translate fully.  Something about “magoosa,” myself, “sleemo,” a slime-ball, and “jeeska,” keeping, or maybe not keeping.  There are terms of negation, but Obi-Wan is not fully clear what is in negation.  Anakin speaks too fast for what little Huttese Obi-Wan knows to be effective in figuring out sentence structure. 

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan calls. “Anakin!”

The boy stops, and they stare at one another. 

“The kids in the crèche said I had to forget my life outside the Temple.  Let it go,” Anakin says, vibrating physically and in the Force.

“You do need to let that life go, Padawan,” Obi-Wan concedes.  “It is no longer your path.”

“But I don’t want to forget Mister Qui-Gon or my friends or, or… my mother!”

“Oh, Anakin,” Obi-Wan slumps further on the bench as Anakin’s face reddens.  He looks like he will burst at any minute, but no tears come.

“She told me to go.  Not to look back, but—”

“There is no forgetting, my Padawan.  It is not so.  Do not think it so,” Obi-Wan protests, releasing one hand from Qui-Gon’s lightsaber and holding it out.  “I would not have it so.”  Anakin’s eyes flick between Obi-Wan’s face and his hand.  “Keep your memories.  We both must work on letting go that which would darken those memories.  I am sorry I am not the example you need right now.”

Anakin looks down at Qui-Gon’s lightsaber still held Obi-Wan’s other hand, the one not outstretched.  The weapon, his life, Obi-Wan picked up.

“Can I be sad, too?” Anakin asks, watching Obi-Wan, watching the hand still extended to him.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says.

“Do I have to let it go?”

“Eventually.”

“But not today?”

“I would be a hypocrite if I said yes,” Obi-Wan answers, mouth approaching a grin.

“Okay.”

“Do you want to test your new training saber and see how many remotes you can smash?”[3]

“Okay,” Anakin says again.  He takes Obi-Wan’s hand and pulls him off the bench.

 

 

[1] Obi-Wan wishes he could say his lightsaber was only eaten the one time, but, sadly, this is not true.  The first incident involved a large 20ft duracrete slug that landed partially on top of him at an excavation site.  Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, assigned as guards against tomb robbers, participated in some of the heavy lifting needed for continued exploration of the ruins.  During one of these occasions, they discovered that a wall that should have been solid had been made less so by the burrowing slug housed behind it, and when they removed the support of the mud and debris, crash went the wall, plop-squelch went the slug, and slurp went Obi-Wan’s lightsaber.  Qui-Gon mourned having to slice the creature open, but Obi-Wan’s lightsaber would not have survived the digestion system of a creature than feeds on concrete.  The second incident was far less dramatic, involving a nerf with an adventurous palate while Obi-Wan napped in a field.  There were laxatives involved, and Obi-Wan willfully forgot the rest.

[2] The Training Salle is equipped with the most up to date, wide range, and precise fire suppression system of any part of the Temple, save the crèche.  Obi-Wan experienced this system first hand when a rest day spent with his friends got a little out of hand.  While everyone still tries to blame Quinlan (because why not), Obi-Wan distinctly remembers Garen suggesting a game of using lightsabers as bats.  The three of them and several other free Padawans and older Initiates grabbed boxes of target practice scrap from Master Kronath and snagged an open room.  Everything started out fine: broken chair legs getting cut in half, pieces of treated armor hit across the room, deactivated ball remotes turned to melted scatter, or the hilarity of the swing-and-a-miss.  It was the torn stuffed animals and broken dolls from the crèche that became a problem.  With half the group batting at a time, there were so many things flying around, no one immediately noticed that the toys were catching on fire—not until the mats on the floor and walls started to sizzle and smoke.  As punishment, Master Kronath refused them the locker room showers, and they all had to walk to their respective apartments covered in suppression foam.  Even more unfortunately, Qui-Gon was home when Obi-Wan arrived and had a number of things to say to his marshmallow fluff of a Padawan.

[3] Anakin smashes all 30 of the remotes.  Eventually.  Master Kronath tells the boys to shut off the lights whenever they leave and goes home to sleep the sleep of a well organized administrator.  In the morning, he and Battlemaster Cin Drallig find the two asleep on the floor surrounded by broken and singed targets and the training droid trying to challenge the cleaning droids.  If Obi-Wan’s face is smushed into a stuffed Tauntaun, they certainly don’t say anything or send a holo to Jocasta Nu.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As far as I can tell, I'm making up the Salle Master position. I didn't find anything in my browsing around Wookieepedia that sounded like what I needed, and the Battlemaster position seems more like warrior/Dean of saber instruction. Surely someone would have the full-time job, however, of running the day to day operations (scheduling, equipment, maintenance, etc) of just the Salle. Right? I spent entirely too much time thinking about that.
> 
> Thank you for stopping by!
> 
> \--Solaras


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